


Strictly Glee

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his dance partner flounces off just weeks before a major competition, Kurt discovers his perfect partner, in both dance and life, right under his nose</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strictly Glee

**Author's Note:**

> Movie adaptation for the reel_glee challenge, movie adapted was 'Strictly Ballroom'. Soundtrack [art and credits](http://pics.livejournal.com/seleneheart/pic/00315tw6)

Qualifying Round for the Ohio Region of the Upper Midwest Ballroom Dancing Federation Latin Grand Prix, Columbus, Ohio – Sandy Ryerson and his partner, Grace Hitchens, danced into the corner, completely blocking couple 100, Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry. The younger couple stayed in place for a few moments, trying to find their way out of the trap. Finally losing patience with Sandy and his alcoholic stumbling, Kurt made a spectacular leap out of the corner and into the spotlight. Rachel ducked under the arms of Sandy and Grace to rejoin her partner, but it was too late – all eyes were locked onto Kurt's spectacularly limber body and no one gave Rachel a second glance.

 _One day later – Schuester's Dance Studio_

"Did you see what he did to me?" Rachel shrieks.

"Now, there, there, it's not so bad," Emma tries to console her.

"You were behind on points anyway," Burt Hummel puts in. "I saw one of the score sheets. Kurt's actions got you into the next round."

"I've had it with him. He's always trying to do things that make him look good and leave me standing there like an idiot."

"Maybe if you tried it, you wouldn't look so stupid," Kurt replies.

"You know I can't do any of that jumping around you do. I'm the star, it's the woman who is on display – the man is only there to support her. You are sabotaging my rise to stardom."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Bitch," he mutters.

"That's it! I quit! Good luck finding someone as talented as I am to dance with you."

"Yeah, and who are you going to dance with?" Kurt asks. "You've just screwed yourself."

At that moment, the studio doors fly open and Sandy Ryerson, seven-time Midwest Federation Grand Prix champion, walks in. He's getting up there in years, but he's had extensive work done and with a spray-on tan, he doesn't look a day over forty.

"Grace just broke both her legs in a horrible accident." He looks at Rachel. "You. You're adequate. Lets go."

Rachel throws a triumphant glare at the members of Schue's dance studio, who are gaping in shock, even Kurt. None of them can believe Rachel's luck. She puts her arm through the elbow that Sandy offers her, and flounces out the door.

"This was supposed to be your _year_ , Kurt," Schue moans.

"Don't worry, Kurt," Mr. Hummel says. "We'll start auditioning new partners for you tomorrow. I have a few people in mind."

"Yes, that's it," Schue says. "We move forward from this. We're not down and out, not by a long shot."

"That's the spirit, dear." Emma smiles at him.

"All right, class." Schue claps his hands. "Back to the samba. Anda one, anda two."

The class obediently begins to circle again, leaving Kurt standing by himself. Schue moves with Emma, a determined smile on his face.

"Happy thoughts, everyone," he says. "I've got my happy face on. No worries."

Burt rubs his son's shoulder. "You may have to give up the idea of the leaping about," he tells Kurt.

"Why?" Kurt demands. "Why does this sport have to be done the same way it was two hundred years ago?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Kurt's best friend Finn says.

"Women don't like being shown up by their partner," Quinn adds.

"I guess you have no concerns about that," Kurt says bitchily.

Kurt shoots them a glare that's guaranteed to speed up global warming. Finn backs up cautiously, tugging his fiancée with him.

"Uh, I should get home. Work tomorrow." He pecks Quinn a quick one on the mouth and rushes out.

"Coward," Kurt mutters.

He sags onto the worn out couch in the studio office, fingers absently picking at the frayed brocade. Rachel is such a bitch. Just because he wants to add a little excitement to their routine – shake the crowd and judges up a little – she has to pitch a diva fit because it takes attention away from her. And if anyone else but Burt had said it, Kurt wouldn't believe that they had been behind in points. He and Rachel always move perfectly together. The judges must not like him.

Kurt watches the rest of the day's classes blankly, coming out of his sulk briefly to wince at the flailings of the beginners. He's grateful that he got that stage of his dancing life out of the way back when he can barely remember it.

He's been dancing since he was small enough to stand on his mother's feet as she guided them carefully across the floor. After her death, Kurt's only goal has been to follow in her footsteps and win the prize that she didn't before her life was cut short. He has dedicated his life since he was six years old to this one dream. He's sacrificed so many things to achieve his ambition, and now the prize is so close that he can nearly taste it. He might never forgive Rachel for screwing him out of winning.

"I headed home, Kurt," his father says. "You'll be there for dinner?"

"Yeah, I'll see you in a few."

Burt turns away, clearly wanting to do more to reassure his only child. Kurt's learned to read his father well over the years and he supposes it goes both ways – that his father can see how totally bummed he is about the partner situation. Kurt's vaguely sorry that he's putting Burt through yet another crisis on his behalf, but he can't help the way he feels.

The studio clears out and the only sounds come from the cleaning crew downstairs, banging the pails together. Kurt ducks out through the rear exit, climbing into his SUV, feeling weary.

Halfway home, Kurt realizes that he left his duffle bag in the office. He considers whether he can leave it for the next day, but it has his best hair dryer and that new exfoliant in it. He seriously needs some spa time after the day he's had, so he reluctantly turns the Navigator around and heads back to the studio.

Quietly working his key in the lock of the back door, he slips up the stairs, hesitating about halfway up at the sound of unfamiliar music drifting down to his ears. Kurt presses himself against the wall where the stairs are less likely to creak and carefully makes his way up to the studio. Peering around the corner into the semi-lit space, he catches a line of the lyrics.

 _the angels have lost their desire for us_

The sight that meets his eyes strikes him dumb. There's a man wearing olive green cargo shorts and a worn out wife beater dancing with his mop as he swipes it over the maple planks of the studio floor. He's young, probably not much older than Kurt, but an ugly pair of black, thick-framed glasses dominates his face, and Kurt has a hard time telling what he really looks like.

The song moves to the chorus and the man sings as he moves, belting the tune out in a surprisingly decent voice.

 _the aurora's rising behind us, the pier lights our carnival life forever,  
oh, love me tonight and I promise I'll love you forever._

The man spins gracefully, but he catches sight of Kurt watching him and stumbles. He dashes over to the sound system and stops the music. As the silence falls in the echoing room, Kurt gathers his wits and his haughtiness around him like any other costume.

"Who are you?"

"I, uh, Noah Puckerman. Puck."

"What are you doing here?"

The man gives him a look like he's dense. "Cleaning. I'm the janitor."

"Oh." Kurt dismisses him from his mind, moving towards the office to get his bag. "I should let you get on with it then."

"I know who you are," the man says.

"Are you a stalker, Mr. Puckerman?"

The man rolls his eyes. "It's Puck. Call me Puck."

"All right . . . _Puck_ , the question stands."

"I get here early sometimes. I've seen you dance. Kurt."

Bristling a little at the use of his name and the proof that Puck does know who he is, Kurt says, "And what do you think of my dancing?"

"I like your ideas of including more movement and leaps, but I don't think you can pull it off convincingly."

"Why the hell not?" Kurt demands, beyond annoyed at that point.

"Because you're missing something."

"And what might that be, Mr. Expert?" Kurt demands.

"Passion."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Rachel are technically perfect . . . every step is there, every twist. But it's like robots doing it. Latin dances are about heat and lust and undeniable desire."

Unwillingly remembering what his father said earlier about their scorecard, Kurt arches his eyebrow in an expression that he's perfected. Usually it makes people cower in fear, but this . . . Neanderthal just stares back, clearly not intimidated.

"You do know I'm gay," Kurt sniffs.

"Yeah, princess, I got that."

"Then how am I supposed to feel passion for Rachel? Or whoever."

Puck gives a smirk of his own and Kurt concedes that he might have found a rival in the disdainful facial expressions competition.

"Just fake it," Puck says. "Girls do it all the time."

"I'll defer to the expert," Kurt murmurs. "I'm sure you have lots of experience with that."

He expects another slashing retort, but Puck seems far away, chewing on his lip, his eyes behind the thick frames of his glasses are distant.

"Dance with me," he says finally.

"What?"

"Let me be your partner."

"Do you even know how?" Kurt screeches.

"I told you . . . I get here early sometimes," Puck says. "Mr. Schuester lets me take the lessons with the others."

"The beginners. Have you ever had a partner? Other than your mop," he snickers.

"I dance with Becky sometimes."

"Becky. Really."

"She's a sweet kid."

Uncomfortably aware that he's been backed into a corner, and not able to throw any insults back without mocking the poor girl, Kurt glares at him, hot fury gathering in his gut.

"How dare you?" he snarls. "You're not even a beginner – you're lower than a beginner. You have no right to suggest partnering with me. I've been dancing since I was six years old. I've won the Junior Grand Prix five times."

Puck scrubs his hand over his shaved head, not seeming at all bothered by Kurt's scolding. "Look. You want to dance with moves like that, you can't do that with a girl."

The anger clears away, and Kurt realizes that Puck might actually be trying to make a legitimate point. "Go on."

"Dance with me. I'm strong enough to lift you."

He flexes what Kurt has to admit are some impressive muscles. Kurt considers the offer. He sort of likes the idea of such an unconventional pairing, two men dancing together, although it's not like it hasn't been done before, just not in the stuffy world of ballroom dancing. His chances of winning might take a nosedive, but on the other hand, the pairing might be enough to make an impression, make them stand out from the crowd. Kurt can't stand to keep losing and keep doing the same things he's been doing. He's sure it's a sign of insanity – to keep repeating what isn't working. This idea has enough of a novelty factor to appeal to him.

"You still haven't shown you know how to dance well enough," he says finally.

"Give me an hour," Pucks says. "See if we can move together."

He goes back to the sound system and presses a few buttons. The sounds of horns and guitar drift out of the speakers. The beat is heavy and slow.

 _The machinist climbs his Ferris wheel like a brave  
And the fire eater's lyin' in a pool of sweat, victim of the heat wave   
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens his legs on the sword swallower's blade   
And circus town's on the shortwave _

"What is that?" Kurt says, not sure if he can dance to it. Plus the lyrics make him wonder a little bit about Puck.

Puck smiles. "The Boss. You know, Bruce Springsteen."

"Isn't he a member of AARP these days?"

The other man shrugs. "Some things are classics. Can't have everything Beyoncé."

"This beat is too disorganized," Kurt complains.

"Look, you're trying to break the mold with your dancing. You might have to get off the disco stick or whatever."

Narrowing his eyes at the reference, Kurt can't decide which sort of insult that was meant to be.

"Just close your eyes and feel it," Puck says.

"I can't believe you just said that," Kurt responds, but he does as he's told.

He feels an area of warmth in front of him, which he presumes is Puck moving into the dance frame. Kurt pretends that the other man isn't there, and that he's alone in his room. The music slowly seeps into him and he lets his body move without trying to think about it much. He cracks his eyelids to see Puck doing the same.

He jumps a little when warm hands settle on his waist, but then he falls back into the rhythm. The awkward thought occurs to him that he doesn't know what to do with his hands, but he finally settles for resting his hands on Puck's forearms.

The song changes, the next one having a better beat to it and Kurt opens his eyes. He's a little surprised to see that he and Puck are nearly the same height, although there's no question that Puck is built more solidly. Kurt isn't used to partnering with anyone so large. Rachel is tiny and easy to lift, but then he remembers again that the whole point of this is to dance with someone capable of following him.

"Rumba," he says softly, already feeling his hips and knees moving to the steps of the dance.

They fumble a bit about where to put their hands, until Puck hisses, "Let me lead, princess!"

 _Oh good night, it's all right Jane  
Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame   
We may find it out on the street tonight baby   
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe _

Kurt feels off-balance and backwards, although Puck's right about who should be leading. They finally get themselves situated, and Kurt has to concede that the janitor has a good sense of rhythm and can move his body. But Puck makes the usual beginner mistakes of someone who's not used to having a partner.

"Look at me," Kurt orders. "Not your feet."

Puck has trouble with that instruction, and Kurt finally snorts in exasperation. "The rumba is the dance of love. Passion . . . as you said earlier. We can't sell that if you won't look at me."

Puck finally settles down and corrects his sight line. "Better?"

Kurt gives him a tiny smile, just a bit of encouragement, but he's not going to pretend to be wildly enthusiastic. "Yeah. We just pretend we're in love while we're dancing."

"Understood."

The song reaches its climax and they're moving smoothly together. Deciding to try something else, Kurt says, "I'm going to leap. Just hold my waist and spin."

He lets go of Puck and turns until his back is to his partner. Puck does a good job of getting his hands back without much fumbling and they turn together. Kurt gathers his speed and leaps, one leg bent and the other extended. He wraps his hands around Puck's shoulders, letting his momentum pull his foot outwards. Puck moves instinctively, leaning back to balance Kurt as he spins.

It's not perfect and they drop it a little clumsily but Kurt can barely contain his excitement. Puck is strong enough to do what he needs, although his moves could use some polish.

The music flows into the next song, 'Rosalita', which is much faster and Kurt moves into a paso doble without thinking about it. Puck tries to follow, but they're clearly out of his comfort zone now. Kurt has to give him points for effort. He tosses his head back and laughs, his body moving perfectly. He can't remember the last time that dancing made him feel like it wasn't a chore.

When the song ends, Kurt stops the CD. "You have good instincts, I'll give you that."

"And?"

"This could work. I'm still going to audition for a real partner, but we can work on this after hours."

"What the fuck's the point if you're still looking for someone else?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Because I want to keep this a surprise. The preliminary exhibition dance before the competition is in two weeks. We'll make our debut then."

"Oh, okay."

>>><<<

Every day Kurt fights to keep the sneer off his face while a parade of perfectly hopeless potential dance partners parade through the studio. One is too tall and moves like a stork. One looks like she'd be more comfortable if they were allowed to use stripper poles as props. Another makes Rachel look lively. Kurt wants to be someplace else.

Kurt releases his latest partner, who can keep the beat but has no grace, and he slumps on one of the stools. Mercedes pats his arm.

"Why can't you just dance with me?" Kurt whines.

"Boy, you know ballroom isn't my thing," she answers. It's their formulaic exchange that's been going on for years. Mercedes hates the rigidity and formality of ballroom dancing steps. Kurt wonders if he should tell her about his project with Puck, but decides against it. Mercedes and Finn are his best friends, but what he's doing will probably shake the stuffy ballroom dancing world. It's easier if they don't know anything until he's ready.

"Got a mani-pedi appointment," she says. "Catch you later."

Kurt watches the girls despondently as they attempt to demonstrate their fancier steps for Will and Emma, one hopeful after another.

"She's dreadful," a little girl says in his ear.

Startled at the little voice, Kurt spins around. "A valid observation," he comments, "but who are you?"

She offered her hand, smiling impishly. "Sarah Puckerman."

"Kurt Hummel," he says, taking her hand. "Wait . . . Puck?"

"My brother. He put me in the beginner class while he works."

"Nice to meet you."

Sarah proves to be less annoying than most children Kurt knows, with a smart mouth to rival her brother's. Although with less profanity.

Puck turns up before the beginner class ends, watching his sister with protective eyes. Kurt refuses to find it cute.

The beginner class was mostly girls – men being a rare commodity. The girls dance with each other, and as usual, Brittany and Santana are putting a little too much 'dirty' into their dancing.

"My favorite part," Puck murmurs, openly watching the show.

Kurt rolls his eyes in disgust.

Becky comes by in the line. "Hello, Noah," she says shyly.

Not wanting to watch Puck anymore and afraid he'll overdose on the saccharine, Kurt heads back to the office, where he discovers his father watching old films of Kurt's mother. Kurt sits down beside him and leans his head on his father's shoulder. Father and son sit quietly while Kate Hummel moves gracefully across the flickering screen, her lovely features clear even in the ancient and uneven video. Kurt wishes he could dance with her now, as an adult. He imagines it's even worse for his father though, so he doesn't say anything.

The auditions continue and the calendar moves ever closer to the date of Grand Prix. Kurt goes through the trial of auditioning each new dancer almost by rote.

In his mind, it's already night and he's in Puck's arms as they drift effortlessly across the floor. He stares into the intriguingly flecked hazel eyes of his partner and feels himself melt into the strength that he finds. Then the girl currently trying out grinds her heel into his instep and Kurt is dragged roughly back into the present. He gives his father a pleading look and Burt shrugs, gesturing to Will who is nodding along to the music happily. Kurt gives his best bitch-face in return and Burt nods, understanding that the girl is unacceptable.

Puck doesn't show up that night when all the classes have left. Instead of hanging out in the studio, Kurt darts out to grab some food, his stomach rumbling. While he's waiting in line at the deli, he gets the idea to get dinner for Puck, too, and so he doubles his order, not really understanding the urge.

When he gets back to the studio, Puck is there, already pulling out his cleaning supplies. He looks up when Kurt comes through the door.

"I, uh . . . got hungry," Kurt says, holding up the bags in explanation.

"Okay, cool. I'll just get started while you eat."

"I got some for you, too."

Ignoring Puck's smirk, Kurt plops his iPod in the dock, and hits play. He sits on the floor, pulling out drinks and their sandwiches. Puck stares for a moment and then joins him. They eat in silence. Kurt wonders about sharing food with someone and how it seems like it's something more than it is.

 _You belong among the wildflowers  
You belong in a boat out at sea   
Sail away, drift off the hours   
You belong somewhere you feel free _

Puck finishes and then wipes his mouth. He pulls his heavy-framed glasses off and rubs his eyes as though he's tired. Kurt studies him, unwillingly intrigued. Puck has thick eyelashes that set off eyes of some indeterminate mixed green-brown. With his sculpted cheekbones and those lashes, his eyes look nearly feminine.

Catching Kurt's stare, Puck demands, "What?"

Feeling odd that he's been caught starting, Kurt shrugs. "Do you have to wear those glasses?"

"My eyes are wrong for those disposable contacts and by the time I get here from school and my other job, they're bugging me, so I take them out."

"Maybe you should leave them in. It might help make a better impression on the judges."

"You're sort of a bitch, aren't you?"

"Since you're a douche, we make a good match," Kurt shoots back self-defensively before he can stop himself.

"Whatever."

Uncomfortably aware that he's been selfish and self-centered and a host of other things that he usually disdains in other people, Kurt grimaces to himself. He's been treating Puck as nothing more than a body with a decent sense of rhythm and arms strong enough to hold Kurt up. He wonders how much sleep Puck actually gets between his jobs and school, and now Kurt is dancing with him for hours on end when he still has to get the studio clean.

Clearing his throat, Kurt asks, by way of apology, "Where do you go to school?"

"Uno."

"Northwestern Ohio? What are you majoring in?"

"Emergency medical technician."

Kurt frowns in confusion. "I didn't know you had to go to college for that."

Puck shrugs. "Depends on your level. I'm going for the P certification which puts me on the same level as a nurse practitioner."

"What's your other job?"

"What's with the questions?" Puck asks suspiciously.

Kurt shifts around uncomfortably, knowing that he'll have to admit to his self-centered behavior. "You're right. I haven't given any thought to the person you are, just what use you are to me."

"Do you want points for being an honest bitch?"

"I'm _trying_ to get to know you. It's what people do. Or maybe you don't have any friends, so you wouldn't know."

"Ouch, princess," Puck laughs. "Okay, I'm doing a work/study thing to cover part of my tuition. I'm a research assistant, so it's a lot of reading. Makes my eyes tired."

Ordinarily, Kurt would make some quip about his shock that the lowly janitor could actually read, but he remembers his resolution to be nice just in time. He shifts gears. "What about your sister? Why is she with you?"

"I'm from Lima. Still live with my family."

Kurt stares at him hard. "I don't remember you."

"I went to Harrison. Plus I'm a jock. I doubt our paths would have ever crossed."

Kurt suspects that if they ever had run into each other back then, it wouldn't have created happy memories. But he supposes that everyone has to grow up sometime. Puck certainly isn't like the jocks he remembers from his high school days.

"What about you, sweet cheeks?"

Struggling to contain his blush at the nickname, Kurt says, "What do you mean?"

"You've heard most of my life story . . . what's yours?"

"I work at my dad's garage during the day, and you're here for what I do at night."

"So that's it?"

"Oh, well, the armpit of Ohio isn't exactly the best place for being discovered. But someday I'll be cast on Dancing with the Stars and be the next Louis van Amstel."

"That cute kid on So You Think You Can Dance was from whateverthefuck. Smaller than Lima."

"Wapakoneta," Kurt says absently, stuck on the idea that Puck just called another man cute.

"Yeah, that. Just down the road anyway."

"Kent Boyd is definitely the exception to most rules," Kurt says.

Shaking off the odd thought that Puck might not be as straight as Kurt has assumed, he starts cleaning up. He picks up the sandwich wrappers and tosses them in the trash. Draining the last of his soda, he throws that away too. Puck goes to the stereo and presses a few buttons, calling up Kurt's dance playlist.

"We should start practicing cause I've still got a lot of work to do."

"Come on," Kurt says, feeling inspired. "We can dance and clean at the same time."

"Are you insane?"

"Snow White. Cinderella."

"Those are supposed to be examples?"

"Well, of course. Plus I caught you with your mop that first night, remember?"

Puck laughs. "Whatever you say, princess."

 _Lets use this chance  
To turn things around   
And tonight   
We can truly say   
Together we're invincible _

Kurt's feeling reckless and he shakes his ass while he sweeps, giving Puck a good view of it. He can't explain the urge to make Puck acknowledge him, to make Puck think he's attractive too. He's at least as hot as Kent Boyd and Puck should realize that.

He finds himself laughing as Puck cavorts with his cleaning supplies. They move together, spinning in each other's arms, and then pull apart to dust and sweep. Kurt's having more fun dancing than he can remember in a long time.

It's after midnight by the time they finish. Kurt's exhausted and glad that the exhibition isn't the next morning. He wonders how Puck manages to juggle everything . . . work . . . school . . . dancing.

"Okay, Cindy. We're done," Puck says finally when his supplies are safely stowed in the closet. "I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Did you drive?"

"Nah, it's not that far. I usually walk."

"Oh, don't be silly. It's late; I'll drop you off."

Puck shrugs and waits silently while Kurt locks up. Kurt leads the way to his Navigator, expecting that Puck will say something about the extravagance, as his walking to work seems to point to him not being able to afford a car. He doesn't say anything though, just hops into the passenger side and sprawls on the leather seats. The over-sized SUV suddenly feels too small and Kurt takes a sharp breath.

"Where to?" he asks, not willing to dwell on the reasons why Puck makes him feel light-headed.

Puck directs him. While he's correct that his house isn't far from the studio, those blocks they traverse are some of the roughest parts of Lima and Kurt shudders at the idea of Puck and Sarah walking through them. Not many people would probably mess with Puck if he were on his own, because he looks pretty intimidating, even with the glasses. But if he were outnumbered, there wouldn't be much he could do about it.

Kurt pulls up in front of a row house, crammed in against others just like it, with only a passageway separating them. Puck gets out, with a wave and a smile.

Someone stirs on the front porch, a form barely distinguishable in the darkness. "Noah? Is that you?"

"Yeah, ma."

A woman in nurse's scrubs appears at the top of the steps. "Introduce me to your friend."

Puck turns around, his expression so helpless that Kurt wants to laugh. Apparently not even Puck can resist parental demands. Kurt climbs down and locks the truck.

"Kurt Hummel," he says, extending his hand.

"He's a dancer at the studio," Puck interjects.

"Norma Puckerman," the woman answers. "Sarah has enjoyed her lessons. Come in."

She turns around, clearly expecting him to follow.

"I . . . I can't . . . it's late."

"The least I can do is offer you a cup of tea, after you drove my son home."

She phrases it as a polite request, but Kurt senses the underlying steel in her. She won't take no for an answer, clearly. And she's suspicious of him for some reason, whether it's because Puck stays late cleaning the studio or she senses Kurt's nature and doesn't approve. He throws a panicked look at Puck who merely smirks.

"Come inside, Princess. We don't bite." He lowers his voice to a sensual growl on the last sentence, which does nothing for Kurt's loss of equilibrium over his recent discovery that he wants Puck to think he's hot.

He follows his dance partner, feeling trapped by the whole thing. The interior is modestly decorated, nearly stark. He thinks snippily that poverty is good for design choices because it prevents people from making horrible ones, and then is appalled at his own thoughts. The only light is from a few lamps on scattered tables. The furniture looks like it was good quality once, but it is worn and in desperate need of recovering. The TV is on and two people are on the couch, watching yet another NCIS rerun on USA.

"Who's this, Norma?" the man asks.

"Kurt Hummel from the dance studio. He brought Noah home," she answers.

The man stands up and he's tall, taller than Puck, but with a lean frame that speaks of past strength.

"Gabe Puckerman, my father-in-law," Norma says.

"Pleased to meet you," Kurt says, holding out his hand and putting on his best manners. He keeps his grip firm but not harsh.

"And I'm Jeannie," the woman on the couch says. Her voice is high and light, like a bird.

Kurt bends over to give her offered hand a squeeze. Her hand is thin and frail in his. He wonders what happened to Puck's father, that his mother lives with her in-laws.

"You're a pretty one," Jeannie says. "How do you know Noah?"

"He's my dance partner," Puck says, unexpectedly, his hand resting on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt hadn't thought that he'd admit they dance together to his family.

"How marvelous!" Jeanie exclaims. "Show us!"

"Grandma . . . it's really late. Kurt should be getting home," Puck protests.

"Don't be silly," she says. "Put that movie song on, Norma."

"It's fine," Kurt says, not wanting to be responsible for an argument. Besides, he has no objection to being in Puck's arms again before he goes to sleep. But he nearly groans aloud as the music drifts into the room. He wonders if the Puckerman family is psychic somehow. This is exactly the last thing he needs.

 _With these hungry eyes  
One look at you and I can't disguise   
I've got hungry eyes   
I feel the magic between you and I _

They move together easily and Kurt manages to get through it without totally melting into Puck by imagining he's dancing with Rachel again. The song is much too close to his true emotions for comfort though.

Puck's family claps when they're done.

"You two look very nice together," Grandma Puckerman says.

Kurt bows extravagantly, and then gets out as fast as he can without seeming rude. He really needs to get some sleep and forget about his weird feelings for his dance partner.

>>><<<

On Saturday, Kurt arrives with his father at the Columbus Convention Center for the exhibition dance. He and Puck agreed that they would wear restrained costumes in deference to Puck's presumed straight anxiety, but Kurt's seriously doubting Puck's total straightness. In any case, he doesn't have any sequins or ruffles on his costume, just a well-fitted jacket and pants. The jacket is slightly Spanish looking and ends at the top of his pelvis, making his ass look fantastic.

"Kurt, Burt!" Schue exclaims when he sees them. "Fantastic news! Isn't it exciting?"

"What are you talking about?"

Sue Sylvester arrives, followed by her ever-present boy-toy and errand runner, Rod Remington.

"Mike Chang is retiring from competition because he was accepted to MIT's engineering program," she says. "So Tina Cohen-Chang is looking for a partner. She's willing to dance with Kurt."

"Tina Cohen-Chang has won the Upper Midwest Ballroom Dancing Federation Latin Grand Prix almost as many times than Sandy Ryerson," Emma says.

"Oh, Kurt, this is so perfect!" Schue squeals.

"But I already have a partner," Kurt protests.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Sylvester says. "Come on, she's anxious to meet you."

She grabs his arm, her grip as hard as iron and drags him towards the dressing rooms. Kurt throw a beseeching look at his father, but Burt seems far away, lost in thought.

"Tina!" Mrs. Sylvester says. "This is Kurt Hummel, your new partner."

"Hello, Kurt," the beautiful Asian woman says. "I'm really excited about working with you."

Kurt's seen her dance and she moves like a dream. Any other time, and he'd be beyond thrilled to have her as a partner. But not now, not after he's danced with Puck. He wrenches his arm out of Mrs. Sylvester's grasp.

"I'm happy to meet you, but I'm afraid there's been a mix-up. I already have a partner."

He turns and darts out of the dressing rooms, anxious to find Puck. He locates the group from Schuester's Dance Studio easily enough and is relieved to see that Puck is already there. Kurt halts in shock as he realizes that Puck doesn't have his thick glasses on. The man is entirely too handsome.

Kurt joins the group just in time to hear Schue say, "Kurt's going to be dancing with Tina Cohen-Chang! Isn't that just the best news ever?"

"The best," Puck answers dully. He looks at Kurt with betrayal in his eyes and then turns away.

"Wait!" Kurt shouts, but Schue tugs on his arm.

"You have to get ready for the social dance with Tina," Schue says.

"No!"

Kurt pushes through the crowd of people, taking off in the direction that Puck went. He navigates the maze of corridors hoping that Puck hasn't gotten too far ahead of him. Kurt finally finds the man in one of the side rehearsal rooms. He's kicking the wall and muttering to himself.

Strains of music drift from a boom box somewhere, Cake singing 'Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps'.

 _You won't admit you love me_

"Noah," Kurt says softly, stepping forward as Puck turns around. "Listen to me, please."

"I know we're pretending to be in love for the dance, but do you like me at all?" Puck asks.

"I'm not pretending to like you. I do." Kurt can admit to liking.

Puck steps forward, hands going to Kurt's waist. "I like you too."

"I don't want to dance with anyone but you."

 _If you can't make your mind up  
We'll never get started   
And I don't wanna' wind up   
Being parted, broken hearted _

Puck pulls him close, and their bodies touch everywhere. They've never danced like this, with no space, no dance frame. The music twines around them and their hands drift . . . touching faces, sliding down arms, mapping strong backs. Kurt never knew that dancing could be like foreplay, but what they're doing is closer to making love than anything else. He tilts his head up, finding Puck's face intimately close.

"What's going on here?" someone asks.

They stop moving, but Puck doesn't let him go, instead settling Kurt against his chest in a way that Kurt finds both arousing and comforting. He looks up to see most of the members of the studio watching them, plus Tina and Mrs. Sylvester.

"Kurt . . ." Schue says, "why are you dancing with the janitor?"

"I told you I had a partner already. I'm dancing with Puck."

"I've never seen anything so disgusting," Mrs. Sylvester says.

Puck tightens his arms and Kurt leans against him, grateful for the support. Puck's sexuality might be up for speculation, but right now Kurt's just grateful for a shield from Mrs. Sylvester's hatred.

"But . . . two men?" Schue sputters. "You can't . . . it isn't done."

Kurt sighs, not willing to go into another diatribe about the stuffiness and traditional-bound rigidity of the ballroom dancing federation again. He looks at Puck, silently pleading.

"Let's go," Puck says, tugging on his hand and leading him past the staring crowd.

"My hero," Kurt murmurs, not entirely sarcastically. He doesn't look back as they leave the others behind. He wonders what his father thinks about the whole thing, but he's confident that Burt will stand by him. He laughs with relief as they exit the Convention Center, feeling free for once.

>>><<<

With the Grand Prix just a week away, and Kurt's secret partner out of the closet, as it were, Kurt and Puck spend their free time practicing. On Thursday, Rachel shows up unexpectedly at Schuester's Dance Studio.

"I'm here to let you beg me to come back as your partner," she announces to Kurt.

"I thought you were dancing with Sandy," Schue says.

"Uhm, well, he's actually too much of an drunk to actually dance without me holding him up. I told him I was through." She smiles her prettiest smile at Kurt. "And now we both need partners. What could be more perfect?"

Sadly for her, Kurt is entirely familiar with that manipulative smile. He shakes his head. "No, thanks. I've got my partner already."

"You can't seriously plan to dance with that cave man!"

"He's not a self-centered, narcissistic bitch," Kurt responds.

"Ooh!" She stamps her foot dramatically.

"Now, Kurt," Schue says. "Maybe you should reconsider. I always said that this year was the one for you and Rachel."

"No."

When Puck arrives that night, Kurt flies into his arms, not caring anymore whether Puck is straight or bent. The only thing that matters is how he feels when he's dancing with the man. Puck doesn't ask any questions, just moves them together to the beat of the music.

 _So many people go through life  
It seems they just get by   
Now I know the truth   
Someone paint me a blue sky _

Kurt lets all his worries and stress drift away. Puck is so big and solid, and warm as a furnace. Kurt rests his head on Puck's shoulder.

"Do you have the day off tomorrow?" Puck asks finally.

"It's the Fourth, everyone has off."

"Yeah, true. My family always takes a picnic to the lake to watch the fireworks."

Kurt raises his head. "We usually just cook out in the backyard."

"Come with us," Puck says. "We can pack a blanket and sneak off for some alone time." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Does that actually work for you?" Kurt complains to cover up the heat that he's suddenly feeling from the confirmation of his suspicions about Puck and his interest in Kurt.

Puck laughs. "You'd be surprised."

"Ew. That's just icky."

Kurt pulls back, but Puck snags his hands, and they stand there staring at each other. Puck squeezes his fingers.

"Come with me. Please."

"I . . . all right. I'll pick you up. What time?"

"Seven-thirty is plenty of time to eat before it gets dark."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

Kurt presses Puck's hands one final time and then pulls away. He would really rather melt into Puck's arms and find out once and for all which way Puck leans, but he's willing to take this at the speed that makes Puck comfortable.

>>><<<

Grandma Puckerman is impressed with Kurt's Navigator, and insists on riding with him, so Puck helps his grandparents into the back seat, while Norma and Sarah follow them in the family car. Kurt regrets that they don't have a chance to discuss what they're really doing that night, but Jeannie's happy chatter keeps him sufficiently distracted.

There's a line of cars at the entrance to the city park where the lake is. Kurt wonders how he and Puck will find any privacy with all the people around, but he assumes that Puck knows what he's doing. And he's not sure whether he's offended or relieved by that.

They park the cars and walk until Norma finds an acceptable spot to eat and watch the fireworks display. Kurt and Puck unfold the camp chairs and spread them around, while Jeannie and Sarah unpack the food.

Kurt is quiet as he eats, not having much to contribute to the conversation. Anticipation, both for what the night might hold for him and for the competition the next day, keeps him silent. He watches the Puckermans, wondering again what their family history is. They don't seem particularly worried about either Puck dancing with him, or his presence at a traditional family gathering in what amounts to a date. Maybe Puck's brought a boy home before, so they're used to his peculiarly fluid sexuality. Which is all Kurt can think that it is, because Puck certainly came off as straight when they first met. Aside from the offer to dance with him, there was no indication that Puck was anything other than a Neanderthal jock. But Puck's been giving off hints of his interest for days now and Kurt finds he's almost as nervous as he was his first time.

When they've finished eating, the sun is nearly down, sending tendrils of golden light across the surface of the lake. Long shadows cover the park.

Norma pulls out a container full of brownies. Kurt bites into one of them, and groans in appreciation.

"Chocolate heaven. These are delicious, Norma." He takes another bite, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the flavor and melting texture.

She laughs. "Thank you."

Puck stands up abruptly. "Kurt and I are going to go find a better place to see the fireworks."

He picks up a blanket and a flashlight. "Come on, princess."

"Okay. Can I have a brownie to go?"

"Of course." Norma smiles at him, her eyes dancing with some secret amusement.

Puck leads the way up the hill and into the trees. Kurt follows him, happily chewing on the moist treat. He licks his lips to get every last morsel. Puck growls something when he finally stops in a clearing. Trees obscure their view of the lake.

"We can barely see the fireworks," Kurt protests as Puck spreads the blanket out.

"They'll be high enough," Puck says. "Besides, here we have some privacy."

He takes Kurt's hand and draws him closer just as the first explosion lights the sky. Kurt gazes up in wonder as the sky flowers with sparkles framed with the leaves of the trees that tower over them. Kurt sighs with contentment as they sway together leisurely.

"That first night. The song you were singing. It was the 4th of July, wasn't it?" Kurt asks.

"I thought you didn't like Bruce Springsteen."

Glad that the darkness hides his blush, Kurt admits, "I may have googled the lyrics."

Pucks tosses his head back and laughs, but it's not cruel and Kurt settles closer to him. Whatever Puck feels for him, at the very least, he enjoys the time they spend together.

"I might have been wrong about the rumba," Kurt says as they move together, deciding that the time is right for another admission, trusting that the leap of faith he's about to take will be rewarded.

"How's that?" Puck asks as they turn, now facing down the hill towards the lake.

Puck moves strongly, hearing some music in his head, following some beat perhaps . . . maybe hearing the distant boom boxes that some of the attendees brought with them. Kurt is content to follow, letting the bigger man spin them.

"I'm tired of pretending," Kurt says, not having the words for what he actually wants to say.

"Pretending?" Puck asks.

"That it isn't real."

"No?" But Puck must understand anyway, because his hand slides from Kurt's waist to cup his ass, pressing him close.

The move gives Kurt the courage to say what he really means. "Pretending that I don't really love you."

Puck tilts his head, lips seeking and they meet in the middle, tongues twining. Kurt is breathless and hot when they part.

"You taste like chocolate," Puck says.

"You taste like everything," Kurt replies, feeling stupid and girly immediately after.

Words fall away then, as Puck answers him with a thigh pressed between his legs and Kurt gives his response with a slide of his leg against Puck's. The rhythm of their dance carries them, speaks for them, and their bodies hold the conversation since neither of them can bring the words in their mouths.

 _And I do not want to be a rose.  
I do not wish to be pale pink,   
but flower scarlet, flower gold.   
And have no thorns to distance me_

The fireworks go off in the distance, lights dazzling and sound a rumbling pop. Kurt lets go of everything, lets Puck lift him up and get him flying without worrying about falling. He sprawls out on the blanket, everything about him open, the ice inside him melting away. Puck grinds down on him and Kurt cries out just as another explosion hits. Puck pulls him up, and Kurt flexes his strong dancer's legs and lets Puck lead him. He's plummeting forever, but Puck's hands never leave him and he never hits the ground.

Gradually coming back to himself, lying in a sweaty heap with Puck on the blanket, Kurt smiles quietly to himself. They didn't manage to get all their clothes off. He wonders where his shirt is and if his Burberry shorts are too badly encrusted with come. Puck's heavy body is a delicious weight on him and Kurt's legs are still flung wide, cradling Puck between them. He shivers as a wave of want goes through him again, whimpering and squirming a little.

Puck lifts his head and Kurt can see his pleased expression in the dim light.

"Again?" Puck asks.

"Yeah. Naked next time."

"Not here, princess," Puck responds. "I want a big bed where I can lay you down and spread you out and have the time to find every single place that makes you scream."

Kurt doesn't bother trying to hold back his whimper at the scene Puck's describing.

Puck flinches and smacks his own arm. "And someplace no mosquitoes are going to bite my ass."

The snort bursts out of him before Kurt can stop it, breaking the mood and the tension that had been rising again. They'll have plenty of time after the competition the next day to work out things between them.

Then he remembers . . . "Oh no."

"What?"

"I promised I'd meet Finn back at the studio to help him with his . . ."

"Bogo pogo," Puck finishes.

"Yeah." Kurt makes no move, not wanting to pull himself out from under Puck. He strokes the side of Puck's face.

Turning his head to mouth at Kurt's palm, Puck says, "You better get going."

Kurt pulls away from Puck reluctantly. He wants this first night together to last the entire night – to greet the dawn in bed with Puck. Maybe Finn will pick the move up quickly, and then he and Puck can meet up again before the competition. However, Kurt knows that the likelihood of Finn learning something with any sort of urgency is slim to none.

The studio is dark when he lets himself in. Kurt's a little surprised that Finn didn't put on the main lights. Finn's not exactly the type to enjoy waiting around in the dark. Kurt flips on the lights and doesn't bother trying to hide his annoyance as he stomps up the stairs.

"Finn?" he calls as he walks onto the dance floor.

A shadow moves by the office and Kurt jumps a little.

"Kurt Hummel."

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief when he recognizes Mrs. Sylvester, Kurt says, "Mrs. Sylvester, you startled me."

"I think we're long overdue for a talk."

Dimly aware that Finn is somehow part of this set-up, and resolving to get his best friend back for this prank, Kurt asks, "About what?"

"Your mother was a winner, Kurt. Do you know what that means?"

"Not in this context, no." Kurt wants to run away because Sue Sylvester at night, when he's all by himself, is more creepiness than he can really cope with. The woman is completely terrifying. Besides, he suspects that she doesn't speak the same language as he does.

"Winners do anything to win. Winners don't care who they step on in the process. Winners understand that genre-busting, showy acts of rebellion against society's mores might have their place, but in competition, they only lead to losing. Your mother knew all of that."

"I don't . . ." Kurt begins.

"Ruthless. Utterly ruthless. I should know. She was my best friend."

Kurt is horrified by the sight of Mrs. Sylvester brushing back tears. He's afraid of what he'll do if the night gets any more surreal. But he considers what she's said. Although his father never indicated that his mother was like that, maybe Burt had been blinded by love. It falls to Kate's best friend, clearly still grieving after all these years, to give Kate's son the truth.

"What should I do?" Kurt whispers.

Raising a shaking hand to her face, Mrs. Sylvester gives him a brave smile. "The rules don't explicitly prohibit same sex dance teams, but you have to know that dancing with that Puckerman kid will never get you a trophy. It's a sad world we live in, but I'm paying you the compliment of telling the truth as I see it."

"Yes."

"Now, you can do your gay pride rebellion thing. Or . . . you can achieve your dead mother's dreams. Your call."

"When you put it like that . . ."

"Exactly. Dance with Rachel. Win the Grand Prix. Make your mother proud."

She leaves and Kurt sits in the dark for a long time, feeling like his heart is breaking.

 _Carry me, at last light  
Through shadows, all the way_

His duty is clear however. He's waited his whole life for this and he can't throw it away on a fling. Finally he rouses and sends two texts.

 _I changed my mind. I'll dance with you. Meet me in Indianapolis tomorrow._

 _I'm dancing with Rachel tomorrow._

>>><<<

In his elaborate Latin Dance costume, with sleeves so puffy that he can't put his arms down at his sides, Kurt stands in the staging area just off the arena. He watches the beginner classes do their exhibition dance. He's surprised to see Puck there, dancing with his sister. Kurt could turn away, probably should, but some part of him wants to dig at the hurt he's feeling until it bleeds. The mere sight of Puck is enough to make him ache with want. Sarah sees him and waves, but when the dance turns Puck around, his gaze skates over his face and there's no recognition in his eyes.

"I can't take this anymore," he tells Mercedes, who has come along to show her support.

"Where are going?" she demands. "You're up soon."

"I . . . I don't know."

Kurt turns and nearly breaks into a run as he tries to find someplace to hide until they call his dance. He gets down into the bowels of the civic center, but then he finds his way blocked by his father.

"Why aren't you dancing with Puck?"

Just then the PA crackles to life. "The next competition is the Latin Grand Prix. All couples report to the staging area."

"Dad . . . I don't have time for this."

"Make time," Burt demands.

Kurt stops in his tracks in shock. His father never uses that tone with him. "Dad?"

"You two looked so happy together. When you didn't know anyone was watching you. You've never looked at anyone like that before."

"I have my reasons," Kurt answers stiffly.

"Sue Sylvester wouldn't have anything to do with those reasons?"

"How do you know?"

"I know that it's time for the truth, son. I know you've guided your entire life by the idea that Kate regretted never winning the Grand Prix before she died, but that just wasn't the case. Your mother and I danced for the pure joy of dancing together – we never cared about winning a prize. Back then, Sue wanted me . . . as a partner, perhaps more. I don't know. I never had eyes for anyone but your mother."

Warmth at his father's confession wars with rage at Sue Sylvester's manipulations. He wants to defend his mother's dream, but now his father tells him that the dream was a lie. "I don't know what to do," he whines.

The PA shrieks, "Couple 100, Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry."

Burt shrugs his shoulders. "I guess you have to decide what you want."

"I want to win!" Kurt exclaims. Burt should know this – it's been Kurt's dream since he was six years old and he decided to fill his mother's shoes.

"Ah," Burt says, giving Kurt's shoulders a little shake. "But win what?"

Kurt hears the summons over the loudspeakers again. He can go dance with Rachel and possibly go home with a trophy. Or . . . he can find Puck and go home with more than a hunk of metal and marble. 'Winning' suddenly has a whole new definition.

"Dad . . . I've gotta . . ."

Burt smiles. "Go find him."

Kurt doesn't need any more incentive as he dashes for the exit. The beginner dances are over and he has no doubt the Puckerman family is leaving. He dodges through pairs working out their steps or making last minute adjustments to their costumes as he tries to find the entrance to the Indianapolis Civic Center.

He dashes up stairways and along halls until he finally bursts into the lobby. Kurt spots the familiar shaved head almost immediately.

"Noah!" he screeches. "Wait!"

The entire Puckerman family turns around and watches as Kurt races up.

"Geez, Princess, cool your jets," Puck says. "Is there a fire?"

Kurt glares at him in irritation, wondering what exactly his father saw when he said Kurt was happy with Puck. But the other man merely smiles in the face of Kurt's annoyance, taking Kurt back to the night before and the way their bodies moved together. Kurt suddenly remembers that things are rather urgent.

"They've called us already! We have to go."

"Go where?"

"Win the Upper Midwest Ballroom Dancing Federation Latin Grand Prix."

"You're dancing with Rachel."

Kurt pulls at Puck's hand. "No I'm not. I'm not dancing with anyone but you. But we have to _go._ "

"Whoo!" Grandpa Puckerman cheers. "We get to see you shake that pretty tail."

Shaking his head, Kurt tries to pretend that Puck's grandfather hasn't been checking out his ass.

"Let's go, dear," Grandma Puckerman says, tucking her arm through her husband's. Sarah laughs, grabbing her mother's hand and the family troops back to the dance floor. Kurt and Puck veer off to find someplace that Puck can get his costume on. Puck had refused to wear anything with ruffles or sequins, so they compromised with a black and tightly fitted jacket that had elaborate lapels that matched Kurt's costume. Kurt wore the large splashes of color, but his vest was a matte black, the inverse of Puck's costume.

"Okay, separate sides, like we rehearsed," Kurt says when Puck is dressed to Kurt's satisfaction.

He turns to go to his entrance, but Puck grabs his arm. "A kiss? . . . for luck."

Kurt smiles and goes up on his toes to brush his lips briefly across Puck's. He's glad to know that he hasn't lost his chance with the other man. With one last squeeze of their hands, they part and then each man heads for their own side of the dance floor.

"This is the absolute last call for couple number 100 . . . Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry."

Kurt leaps through the gate, letting his momentum carry him into a spin, his feet already flying as he lands. He lifts his arms, twirling to the beat of 'El Cuarto de Tula' blaring out of the Civic Center's sound system. He makes his final leap, certain beyond anything in his life that Puck will catch him.

Strong hands grasp his and they move together with the other couples. Kurt can't keep the smile off of his face as he and Puck dip and swirl in perfect unison. He never felt like this, ever, when he was dancing with Rachel. He spins, looking for Finn and Quinn, but doesn't see them. What he does see is Sandy Ryerson with a stupid look on his face and Tina with a grim look on her face, dancing like she is supporting him. Kurt has to laugh, knowing that, much as Rachel annoys him, he's glad she dodged that bullet.

Somebody makes some announcement over the loudspeaker, but Kurt's too busy smiling happily at Puck as he's dipped low and then pulled up into a spin that leaves him plastered against Puck's chest. His partner grins back and slips in a saucy wink. Kurt can't wait until the contest is over and they can find some time alone to explore the things that they started the night before.

"Couple 100," the loudspeaker squawks. "Couple 100 is disqualified."

They don't stop dancing immediately. Kurt can't believe that Sylvester would actually go as far as to call out the same sex couple where everyone can hear her. Puck looks at him, concerned. Kurt shrugs.

The music stops then, and silence descends over the arena. Puck's arms tighten around Kurt.

Sue Sylvester's voice comes over the PA. "Couple 100 is disqualified. Leave the dance floor immediately."

Kurt drops his arms and steps back, regretful that they can't continue. But it doesn't really matter. He's got Puck back and the Grand Prix trophy is really just a tawdry piece of fake brass and pressed marble. He bows to his partner and turns, ready to bow to the audience before they exit.

To his surprise, someone in the audience starts a slow clap – a faltering rhythm that quickly becomes as steady as a heartbeat. Kurt turns and sees his father with a wide grin of approval, slapping his hands together. The rest of the people pick up the rhythm.

Sylvester is still bleating things into the mike, but Kurt ignores her and turns to look at Puck. He decides that is doesn't matter whether they have music or not. Puck taught him how to ballroom dance to Bruce Springsteen, for God's sake! No music at all shouldn't be much of a problem.

Puck smirks at him, face full of mischief and challenge. Kurt knows that the man will follow whatever he decides, but he can tell that Puck is more than willing to thumb his nose at authority. He raises his hands, pushing off with his near leg into a spin that twirls him into Puck's arms.

"Rumba," Kurt whispers. "One-twenty beats."

With a nod, Puck sways his hips, pulling Kurt against him. Their bodies mesh together as easily as they have from the first, and the sounds of the audience drift away as they move, the rhythm of their heartbeats the only music they need.

They pay no attention as their friends deal with Sue Sylvester, lost in each other. When the music comes back on, Kurt breaks out of his trance to smile. The song is Mercedes' choice, no doubt. He angles his head up, seeking contact. Puck indulges him, taking his mouth in a blistering kiss.

 _Love is in the air  
Every sight and every sound   
And I don't know if I'm being foolish   
Don't know if I'm being wise   
But it's something that I must believe in   
And it's there when I look in your eyes _


End file.
